


Differential Diagnosis

by Trillion_G



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Julian whump, M/M, Medical Conditions, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trillion_G/pseuds/Trillion_G
Summary: Julian Bashir battles a mysterious illness with no end in sight. It's just one more secret to keep along with his GE status and his relationship with Garak, but everything starts to get out of hand.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Differential Diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a doctor, so there are likely to be medical inaccuracies in Julian's illness and diagnosis process.
> 
> Takes place in late DS9 season 2/post TNG season 7 (shortly before Generations).
> 
> The Cardassian birthday comment is a reference to a wonderful fic you should read by AlphaCygni: "Happy Itask'haran, Mister Garak" https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833034/chapters/34330502

Julian Bashir was not a patient man. His colleagues would describe him as determined, diligent, intelligent, kind, and forgiving. But “patient” was far from the top of the list of qualities ascribed to the doctor.

This was never more evident than when Julian was himself the patient. As was true of many doctors, he was prone to ignoring his own symptoms, pushing himself to work through discomfort or pain and demanding that his body heal itself at a superhuman pace. But even his truly superhuman genes were failing him now.

“Hunk of junk!” he spat, slapping his palm against the display screen on his medical console.

“Oi! I just repaired that junk two months ago!” Miles O’Brien approached to lean over Julian’s shoulder for a cursory inspection of the console. Julian quickly toggled the screen to clear away lab results. “What’s it doing or not doing?” the engineer asked, satisfied that the console was undamaged.

“Sorry, nothing. Just not getting anywhere with this experiment,” Julian mumbled. He failed to hide the slight wince as he unthinkingly scrubbed at his face. He’d applied a dermal regenerator to stop the nosebleed, but had yet to address the deep purple bruises under his eyes.

“Jay-sus, look at you!” Miles barked when he finally looked down at Julian’s face. His hand hovered in the space between the two of them, but dropped without touching the younger doctor. “Did you actually break your nose?” Miles’s crisp uniform and fresh face evinced that he had gone straight from their springball court to the shower. Their game had ended abruptly when the two had collided and Julian came away with a bloody nose. Julian was still wearing the silver sportswear streaked with blood.

“No break, just a few ruptured vessels from the impact,” Julian assured his friend, trying for a smile but ending up in another wince.

“Well at least there was a reason for this one,” Miles commented. Over the past three months, Julian’s spontaneous nosebleeds had twice interrupted senior staff meetings, and once Miles had been forced to pause a holonovel until Julian could staunch the flow. 

Julian made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement, his mind cataloging the nosebleeds that Miles was unaware of plus the various bruises, bleeding gums, and attacks of fatigue that he’d battled recently. He unconsciously tugged at his sleeve to cover bruises at his wrist. Miles was unlikely to realize the bruises were in the shape of fingerprints, Cardassian fingerprints to be exact, but the doctor had developed a few unconscious ticks in recent months.

“Anyway, just came to check on you,” Miles said, clearing his throat. “And to let you know the Captain’s cooking tonight, 1900 hours. I passed him on my way here and told him I’d let you know.” Julian took a deep breath when he felt his heart skip a beat, but Miles took it for a sigh. “Last minute, I know. But you can’t pass up his dad’s etoufee recipe.”

Julian pulled in two more deep breaths, and covered the action with a yawn. “Oh, yes, certainly. I’ll be there. Just had my mind on this research project. Probably stayed up too many nights in a row working on it.” He gestured at the console. “Slow going.”

“Well, if it acts up again, try calling me. I’m the only one allowed to practice percussive maintenance, and that’s only as a last measure.” Miles glanced at Julian’s smudged expression and placed a gentle hand on Julian’s shoulder. He dashed away before the encounter could grow any more awkward.

Julian sucked in a breath and turned back to the console. “Computer, resume analysis of blood sample Bashir, Julian S. 651-2. Identify signs of possible radiation exposure and run a full thyroxine panel.”

\---------------

At 1840, Julian jerked awake when someone called his name. His body reacted before his brain was entirely online, and he darted from the console to smooth his hands over his uniform. “Yes, sorry, about that, how can I help you?”

Garak could see the moment that Julian became fully aware of his surroundings and situation. “Hello, Doctor,” he crooned. Even if he hadn’t witnessed the doctor dozing at the console with his head pillowed on his crossed arms, the creases etched into the tan cheeks and forehead would have given it away. “You have a dinner to attend.”

“Oh, hell!” Julian choked, running his hands hastily across his uniform jacket again. He had changed out of the bloodstained springball outfit and healed his black eyes earlier in the evening, but he still wanted to change into something casual before dinner. “Wait, how did you know I have a dinner?” Garak’s only answer was a small smile and an eyebrow twitch. “Nevermind. Damnit, I’m going to be late.”

Garak held out a bundle of cloth. “I received this Deltan linen and used your measurements for experimenting with it. Deceptively difficult fabric, you should know, but I think the end result is satisfactory.” Julian took the bundle and shook it out, revealing an asymmetrical tunic. The wine red garment was exquisitely finished and bore traces of the latest Cardassian fashion trends. But the high structured collar was an unusual touch; Julian had realized early on that Garak almost exclusively designed Julian’s shirts with boat necks or asymmetrical v-cuts that displayed a hint of clavicle.

“Garak, it’s beautiful. A perfectly timed. God, I could kiss you.” Setting aside modesty since the tailor had seen every inch of the doctor’s skin, Julian removed his uniform jacket and pulled at his undershirt, tangling a bit in the clingy fabric. When he wrestled it off finally, he witnessed a look in Garak’s eyes that was intense yet inscrutable. By now he felt he was able to decipher most of Garak’s micro expressions, but it took him a moment to understand. The wound at his shoulder, a rainbow of color and in the exact shape of Garak’s jaws, had riveted the Cardassian. But where Julian would have expected to find a thrilling hunger at the exposure of visible evidence of Garak’s claim, he saw a hint of horror and perhaps guilt.

That could not stand. Even though Julian pulled his new tunic on and hid the damage, Garak’s eyes stayed riveted on that shoulder. Time for the doctor to employ his favorite and most effective distraction on his bedmate. “In fact…” he purred before molding himself to Garak and pulling him close for a filthy and assaulting kiss.

“Doctor,” Garak complained, though it was a weak resistance. “In the infirmary? Really?”

“C’mere,” Julian slurred as he urged Garak towards a storeroom. “Since you saved me so much time, let’s put it to good use.”

“My dear!” Garak gasped, scandalized as Julian keyed the lock on the storeroom door from the inside, plunging them into darkness. “You’ll stain the linen.” His heart wasn’t in the protest as he felt Julian drop to his knees to open Garak’s trousers opened by skilled and practiced fingers.

“Then I’d better make sure not to let a single drop go to waste.”

\---------

At 1906, Julian pressed the pad at Benjamin Sisko’s quarters, and the doors instantly swept open. “Julian!” Dax called as he stepped in. “Did you run here or something? You’re not even really late.” Her voice projected the ghost of a laugh. Her mirth was one of the features that usually inspired Julian’s devoted attraction, but at the moment his head was swimming.

“Yeah. Got caught up in an experiment,” he lied smoothly between heaving breaths. He peered around and realized Jadzia was correct: several other senior staff members had yet to arrive.

“Nice shirt,” she commented and pulled at a stray thread at a shoulder seam. Garak would have been appalled and a bit humiliated at the appearance of an unfinished detail, but he had only himself to blame for twisting the new seam in his hands just moments earlier. Julian still tasted Garak’s lingering sharp, almost minty flavor on his tongue. At least the tunic was stain free thanks to Julian’s skilled lips.

“Thanks. It--” Whatever Julian was going to reply was cut off as he sank down on shaking legs to the couch. He took a deep breath and glanced up at Jadzia’s concerned expression. “Low blood sugar,” he lied again.

“Let’s start with dessert then,” Kira interjected. She flopped onto the couch next to him and pushed a plate into his hands. It held a gorgeous golden-brown puff ball dusted with powdered sugar. “I begged him not to make beignets this time. Claims he forgot.” The streak of white powder at the corner of Kira’s quirked lip betrayed her. “Please save me before I eat them all.”

Julian felt his stomach lurch, but tamped down the sensation. “Just one,” he insisted, lifting the donut from the plate and shoving half of it into his mouth before biting down. “I’m supposed to avoid wheat protein.” He licked the sugar from his fingers.  _ Hmm, need to check for possible intestinal obstruction.  _ His mind never stopped ticking away in search of an elusive diagnosis.

“Ah, I wondered what it would be this week,” Jadzia commented. “What was it last week? Nuts? And bird eggs the week before that?”

Julian’s mouth twisted into a grimace. He hadn’t realized he was so transparent in his experimentation. “Elimination diet,” he explained.

“You’re healthy as a leminorus and twice as skinny! What do you need to diet for?” Kira was asking the question of Julian but directing her vision at the remaining beignets on the buffet table.

“My father is going to insist on fattening you up if you ever stop at the restaurant,” Benjamin warned, approaching the group. He’d noticed Julian’s washed out color when he’d entered the door and pressed a bowl of rice and red beans into the doctor’s grasp while taking his plate away. “God to be young again with that metabolism.”

“Not so young anymore,” Julian griped, poking at the bowl as his stomach flipped again. Jadzia and Ben both rolled their eyes and exchanged amused glances.

The rest of the dinner went well as Julian felt himself perk up. Perhaps the blood sugar comment hadn’t been too far off the mark, though he’d never known his body to react in such a way. He’d skipped countless meals in Starfleet medical school while subsisting on little more than caffeinated drinks.  _ Note to self, consider caffeine toxicity _ . His enhanced genes had kept him running like a finely tuned machine even with too little fuel and maintenance until now, but there was no way to know if his body would experience a drop off in efficiency at some point.

Until now, he’d stubbornly refused to consider the body modifications forced upon him as a child as the source of his medical problems, but he was approaching the point where there was no other explanation. The process of elimination in his diet had yet to uncover a clue in his messed up self-administered test results. 

For a while now Julian had been locked in a pattern of decline until he reached the point that he was forced to confine himself to quarters for a few days, subsisting only on clear liquids as he spent hours gasping on the fresher floor between bouts of vomiting, spitting, and otherwise expelling blood-tinged fluids. After a cocktail of vitamins, minerals, and electrolytes (and occasionally self-transfusing a single unit of blood), he would pass out on the floor or sometimes crawl to bed. Without fail, he would wake feeling healthy and energized. After recording the details of the incident on a chart for further study (as if he were just any other patient), he’d carry on with his duties. Down time at work was now spent almost exclusively on attacking the problem with tests and experiments.

He was doing his best to hide these episodes from everyone including his…  _ lover? Boyfriend? _ He mentally wrinkled his nose any time he tried to find a term that could encompass what Elim Garak was to him. For almost half a year, the pair had enjoyed a covert arrangement best described as “friends with benefits.” To outside observers, their ersatz lunchtime book club was the extent of their friendship. But several times a week Julian would slip away to Garak’s quarters in the night. He would usually return to his own quarters by morning, though there were more than a few mornings that he woke with Garak wrapped around him and his own skin sticky with sweat and other substances in the warm humid air that Garak preferred. And often he would come away with magnificent and sometimes brutal bruises, scrapes, and broken skin. The tailor had become quite practiced with the use of the dermal regenerator on human skin in an effort to keep their activities covert. 

That evening in his quarters, satisfied and brimming with cajun food, Julian slipped off the beautiful red garment. He winced as the wound on his shoulder twinged and, glancing in the wall mirror, noticed it was seeping yellowish plasma. If Garak kept targeting this particular patch of skin, Julian was going to end up with scars since modern medicine only went so far in rehealing repeat damage.

His heart skipped a beat as he traced the mark with his finger and remembered the night before. It always ended up blissed out of his mind when he spent the night in Garak’s bed, but the night before had been a marathon. The memory of cool scaly hands running everywhere on his body contrasted with hot piercing bites pushed to the forefront of his mind.

His heart skipped again and kept skipping. “Get it together, Jules,” he scolded. There was no one to fool in the solitude of his quarters, but he resisted the burn in his lungs until he could no longer fight to gasp and heave. “Oh, fuck,” he choked out as his vision went black then his body crumpled to the floor. Only luck prevented him from cracking his head against a furniture corner as he went down.

\----------

He woke a half hour later gasping for air. After spitting a mouth full of pink drool onto his discarded uniform pants, he recorded the incident on his PADD and crawled into bed to shiver and sweat until sleep took him.

\---------

A week later, feeling alert and dotted with a constellation of well-earned bruises and kisses from a few hyposprays of wellness cocktails, Julian hummed as he massaged first the left then the right breast of major Kira Nerys. His patient, often unamused, wore an expression of unhappy discomfort. “Must you?” Kira finally spat out.

“Hmm?” Julian questioned, perplexed. “It’s just part of the physical, I assure you.”

“I think she means the humming,” Nurse Tagana said without looking up from the data PADD.

“Oh, sorry about that.” In silence he slid his gloved hands down to palpate Kira’s abdomen. “Okay, Major!” Julian snapped his gloves off and launched them towards a biorecepticle with a satisfying “donk” as Kira sat up. 

“What were you humming anyway? It was awful.” She pulled her gown closed.

Julian looked down at her from the monitor over the bed. “Uh, something Cardassian.”

“Ugh,” Kira replied, pulling her gown tighter. “Don’t tell me you and the tailor have moved onto music criticism.”

Julian glanced through the notes from his nurse on the data PADD and absently replied, “Nah, Garak just had it playing over supper last night.” A few beats of thick silence made him look up from the device, and he fought down panic at the slip up. “He was treating me to dinner in his quarters because he had to miss our latest lunch.” The raised eyebrow from both his patient and his Bajoran nurse indicated that the excuse only made the situation sound worse.

Well, that bell couldn’t be unrung. And continuing to offer explanations would only make the situation sound more suspicious.  _ Get your head together, Julian. _ Eager to move on, he turned the data PADD towards Kira. “Everything looks good. I’d like to reiterate that a birth control implant is worth considering. As much as I enjoy seeing you in here every week for an injection, I’m sure you’d like to avoid the hassle.”

“The last time I had an implant, it was nothing but trouble,” Kira griped. “If you’d just send me home with the hypospray, I promise to be perfect with the schedule.”

“As long as you insist on a hormonal option, I’m going to run a quick scan every time I administer it. Just… think about it. Bajoran medical science has had a few years to advance since you last had the implant. There’s a new one that reacts more mildly to semen while still killing the sperm. You might not have so much trouble with it.”

“I’ll consi-- Doctor Bashir, you’re bleeding again!” Kira cried.

“Damn it!” Julian pressed his sleeve to his nose. “You’re done; you can get dressed. I’ll catch up with you later at senior staff,” he called behind him as he left the room.

It had been such a good day so far with no signs of his mystery disorder. Not even the prospect of a schedule full of wellness exams had dampened his spirit. Plus he was looking forward to plans with Garak that night. Two nights in a row was not usual, but he’d pleaded with his lover during their post-coital high and secured another date.

But now, this. Dutifully he recorded the incident and drew blood and produced a urine sample for analysis. As the Cardassian equipment churned away at breaking down molecules, Julian scrolled through the database.  _ Still no evidence of anemia. Need to scan kidneys again for lesions.  _ His despair must have been mirrored on his face as Tagana approached him from the side. 

“So,” she started, leaning her hip against the console in feigned nonchalance. “Figure out what’s going on, yet?”

Julian closed out the file on the screen as casually as possible. “Hmm?” he hummed, trying for nonchalance. “Oh, this?” He indicated the soiled jacket draped on the back of his chair. “I’ve had nosebleeds since I was a kid. I think Chief O’Brien is messing with the humidity levels on the station again.” He tried to meet her eyes, but shied away when he saw the intensity in her gaze.

“You know Doctor Adamcik did a residency in vascular abnormalities, right?” 

“Yes, thank you, Nurse.” Julian didn’t have to reach far to put on the pretense of the arrogant doctor patronizing his subordinates. Tagana sighed and left his side, ostensibly to sort the store room but more likely to complain about him with the other nurse on duty. At least Julian had the humility to be ashamed of the behavior.

A few hours later, tensions in the infirmary were back to normal. Julian made sure to check in with Tagana to make an apology before heading towards the senior staff meeting. “Hey, I appreciate, er, earlier. I know you’re trying to help, but it’s really nothing, I promise.” When she gave him a doubtful frown, he caved a bit. “Maybe I  _ should _ have Luka take a look. Maybe cauterize some veins or something. It is rather inconvenient.”

Tagana’s icy manner warmed a bit. “Maybe you should. You’re the one who’s always on us about our blood pathogen safety.” Julian smiled at her and wished the rest of the staff a good evening. He bounced out of the infirmary, spinning on his heel to head towards the turbolift. 

In the next heartbeat, the world tilted and nausea gripped him. He managed to trip his way towards a cubby between two merchant spaces, hidden away from the crowd of the promenade as he slid down the wall on shaking legs. His world narrowed to the spinning colors in his vision that were rapidly darkening to muted shades. The sounds of the promenade seemed to come from kilometers away, muted by a ringing sound twinned with the drone of rushing blood.  _ Must check heart function again... _

It could have been seconds or minutes later when the sound of his name reached his awareness. As his brain booted up to bring systems back online, he ran self diagnostics. Hearing: Garak was calling his name in increasing levels of concern. Sight: the muted colors were resolving into the face of his Cadassian friend. Taste: blood, as seemed to be the constant now. Touch: soft leather against his jaw, sweat soaking his uniform, dusty rough carpet under his hands. Smell: the cool herbal scent that caused a pavlovian reaction of saliva production and adrenaline. Garak’s deft hands were supporting Julian’s head, his fingers spread across the doctor’s jaw and neck, and the tailor’s stress triggered activity in the scent glands at the base of his wrists. “Julian!” he called, shaking the human’s head slightly.

“Elim,” Julian gasped. “Elim… Elim.” His fine-boned surgeon hands, grimey with a mix of sweat and dust, travelled up to grasp at the leathery fingers gripping his jaw. “Garak!” he breathed, sucking in air as his heart rate slowed from a fluttering hummingbird beat. “God, you can’t be here. They must not see.”

The Cardassian ignored the comment. “What happened?” Garak demanded, his own panic receding as Julian’s color returned.

Julian pulled his legs under him to push to a standing position, resenting that he needed the assistance from Garak’s solid form to do so. “It’s stupid really.” He finally met Garak’s eyes, but immediately glanced anywhere but at the intensity of the other man’s gaze. He gave a weak laugh. “Would you believe a panic attack?” The lie came to him easily; he’d become more than practiced at the lies and more lies about his body.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the sour expression of doubt on Garak’s face. “I have some experience with such conditions.” Garak’s frown deepened, and when he dipped his chin, the ridges at his brow cast his bright blue eyes into shadow. “This was certainly quite intense. This… panic attack.”

Julian tried to laugh again, but it stuck in his throat as a weak hum. “Yes, well. I’ve been running on too little food and rest, and far too much chemical stimulant. Pushed myself a bit. Keep forgetting I’m not young anymore.” Julian tipped his head back against the wall and out of Garak’s grip to steady himself against the receding disorientation.

Garak’s affronted snort led to a respite of silence, though it was brief as neither man was known to be particularly reticent. “You are fortunate that I was nearby to visit Mulvyr for a chat. If I hadn’t caught you on your way down, you’d have busted your empty monkey skull straight open.”

Julian opened one eye in reproach, then pushed himself away from the wall. “You’re being dramatic.” Though Garak’s “plain and simple” smile was pasted on, Julian could see the strain of the scales at the tips of his eyes and mouth. “Seriously, stop fussing. I just had a moment.”

“A moment,” Garak repeated, his voice flat in contrast to his smile. “Well, if it’s only a moment, I’m sure it will be cured by a good night’s rest. You should retire to your quarters early this evening.” He punctuated his point by putting a half step of extra distance between their bodies.

“No, please. I’m  _ fine _ . I am!” Julian hovered closer to Garak, closing the half step and then some. “It’s just been a bit of stress today.” Julian’s voice dropped half an octave. “And I prescribe a healthy dose of your very patented stress relief.”

Garak rolled his eyes, but Julian noticed the dilation of his partner’s pupils. “I thought Starfleet doctors weren’t allowed to self prescribe.” He trailed a finger from the corner of Julian’s jaw down his neck, where his touch lingered.

The doctor started to smile, then pulled away with a disgusted sound. “Stop taking my pulse, you overgrown lizard.”

“Then stop being stubborn, you hairless ape.”

Flying in the face of rigid and careful rules for discretion under which the pair had been operating, Julian pushed forward completely into Garak’s personal space to press a kiss to the teardrop shaped chu'en of the tailor’s forehead. He pulled back immediately, loath to jeopardize the covert relationship they’d maintained. “I’m ringing your doorbell tonight. Admit me or don’t, but think hard about that decision.”

Julian spun on his heel (regretting the sudden move but willing to suffer for the drama), leaving Garak to glare at his retreating form.

\----------

At the senior staff meeting, Julian had to excuse himself for a moment. It was fortunate that the ops fresher was less frequented than the public ones on the promenade so he could vomit alone.  _ Have I checked for muscle parasites, yet?  _ When he returned to the meeting, Jadzia pierced him with those blue eyes, and he thoroughly avoided her gaze during the rest of the meeting and his rapid departure after.

That night, Garak let him into his quarters. Julian convinced himself that he hadn’t been concerned at all about whether Garak would choose to continue their evening activities or slam the door on their mutually beneficial arrangement.

And when Julian passed out into sleep a little too abruptly after coming down from the heights of pleasure, Garak swallowed a lump of concern and turned his attention to the PADD on his bedside table. Unlike his mammalian bedmate, his mind was most sharp at the conclusion of the roller coaster, and it seemed wise to use the clarity to wade through the queue of medical articles on the human endocrine system he’d curated that afternoon which were far too advanced for him, but he was unwilling to stand by and do nothing.

\---------

Whether it was Odo’s rough voice or the clatter of a falling PADD that jerked Julian out of a doze at the table, he couldn't be sure. “My word, sorry about that, Constable.” Julian scrambled to recover the PADD, horrified to realize he left his CBC results visible on the screen to anyone who wandered through the replimat. “Good morning,” he chattered, sliding the device under his breakfast tray, screen side down.

“Hnph,” Odo grunted. “May I?”

“Please.” Julian indicated the empty chair across from him. “I was waiting for Miles to join me for breakfast, but he’s forgotten I guess. And I got lost in thought.” He swallowed down a few spoonfuls of the white coconut soup in front of him to stop his own runaway mouth.

“Really?” Odo said, studying the doctor. “Are you sure you agreed to meet at the replimat?” Julian tilted his head in question. “You didn’t agree to meet at his quarters for a… what was it? Oh yes, ‘full English’?” Odo watched the slow morph of confusion to dawning horror in the doctor’s golden eyes, intrigued at how the delicate muscles of the human face could be so expressive. “Because I seem to remember at senior staff his insisting you come to his place for breakfast before his shift.”

“God,” Julian groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Bollocksed that, didn’t I?”

Though the translator tripped up at the phrase, Odo was adept at context clues. “It seems you did. Wait!” He stopped Julian before the young man could dash away. “While I can usually trust that brain of yours to remember something, I have to ask if you can deliver a message to the chief for me.”

“Yeah, of course, Odo.”

“I’ll keep it short.” Julian frowned at Odo’s patronizing tease. “Let him know the  _ Enterprise _ docked this morning at 0400 for emergency repairs after a minor skirmish. The night crew is on repairs now, but I figure he’ll want to handle it personally.”

“Got it, yeah. Thanks Odo, I owe you. Miles would give me an earful for standing him up completely,” Julian called as he dashed off. When he was several meters away, he stopped in his tracks, causing a Bolian to stumble into him. He turned around to Odo who was wearing a micro-scowl on his face and holding a PADD in the air. Julian did an embarrassed little jog back to the table to grab the device. “Thanks, yeah, sorry. Lose my head if it weren’t attached.” He huffed out a laugh. “You know me.”

Odo watched Julian’s retreating form while drumming his fingers rapidly against the table.

\---------

As Julian followed Miles through the curved halls of the  _ Enterprise _ , he was struck by the stark difference between his life on DS9 and what Miles must have had here. Compared to the station, the starship was pristine, uniform, and sterile. The last time he had been on the ship, he had barely settled into DS9 and the Starfleet environment was the baseline normal for him. But this time, Julian felt that the ship lacked the kind of personality that he’d grown to love from the station.

“O’Brien, hey!” A red-uniformed security guard stopped the pair to pump Miles’s hand in greeting. “Heard you’re back with us!”

“Oh, just helping Geordi out with repairs for a few days, then it’s back to the station.”.

The guard pulled a face. “I don’t envy you on that Cardassian death trap, God knows.” Julian swallowed down a defense of the station that Miles worked unceasingly to repair and improve. “Well it was good to see you anyway.”

“You, too, man!” Miles called, urging Julian forward without bothering with an introduction.

“Is there seriously anyone on this ship you don’t know, Chief?” Julian joked.

“I don’t even know who that guy was!” Miles confessed, triggering a chuckle from Julian. “I’m bound to know a few people in here, though. Come on, I’m parched.” The two entered Ten Forward, and Julian was immediately drawn to the view out of the large curving windows. The  _ Enterprise  _ was docked in such a position that most of the station could be seen.

Miles smirked at the expression on his friend’s face and turned to appreciate the view for a moment as well. “It’s really something, isn’t it? I remember when it used to seem ugly and intimidating.”

Julian nodded and gazed for a few more beats. “I know it’s dark and filthy and dangerous and always falling apart on you. Halfway junk really. But…”

“But it’s  _ our _ junk,” Miles finished, following Julian’s thoughts. “I know. Being here just makes me somehow actually miss it. Can you believe that?”

Julian shook himself out of the moment and swept his gaze across the lounge. Two familiar faces stood out to him: Data and Geordi were seated at a table with two other crew members. “I’ll introduce you,” Miles said, noticing the senior staff members. “Good evening,” Miles began. “Geordi, Data, you remember Julian Bashir.”

“It is nice to see you again, Doctor,” Data replied. He and Geordi stood from the table and offered their chairs. Julian was dying to ask Geordi about the implants in his eyes, but he was polite enough to avoid discussing medical information outside the appropriate venue.

“Likewise. Hello,” he said as an introduction to the other two party members.

“Doctor Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer,” Beverly said, shaking Julian’s hand.

“Deanna Troi.” At the flash of expression that Julian failed to hide, Deanna gave him a wry smile. “Yes, Ambassador Troi is my mother.”

“Don’t worry, Deanna is a wonderful conversationalist and only half as handsy,” Miles quickly added with a wink for the counselor. “May we join you four?”

“Actually Data and I were going to get back to it,” Geordi explained. “It’s good to see you again, Doctor Bashir.”

“Wait up one mo’ and I’ll come along,'' Miles insisted. “This was the last stop on my tour for Julian. Counselor Troi, Doctor Crusher, we can’t let you leave the station until you stop by my quarters for at least drinks. Keiko would murder me. I’ll find you both when these repairs are done to figure out details.”

“We’ll get your friend back to the station,” Troi smiled. “And I wouldn’t dare to leave without seeing Keiko and Molly.”

Julian took the seat at the table that allowed him to watch the view from the windows. “Have you had a chance to tour the station? I’d be happy to show you around.” 

“Jean-Luc and I visited last year. It was interesting. I bet you never get bored,” Beverly guessed.

“Well really it’s usually weeks of treating sports accidents and trip injuries, but there are times I feel like I’m barely treading water if we get a battle damaged starship docked. Oh, hello.” Julian greeted the short, robed woman that approached their table.

“Deanna, Beverly. Who is your new friend that Miles failed to introduce to me?”

Troi spoke up. “Guinan, this is DS9’s CMO, Julian Bashir.”

“CMO? Do they start them off in diapers at the academy, now?” A blush sprang to Julian’s cheeks before he was able to get his autonomic system under control. “Welcome to my lounge. What can I get for you, Doctor Bashir?”

“Just an ale, please. Thank you.”  _ Need to recheck liver enzymes. _

Guinan’s smile was both coy and honest at the same time. The parallels between her and Quark ended at their short statures and shared profession of bar keep; Julian was instead reminded of Garak by Guinan’s manner that was both aloof and open. A warm feeling suffused his chest as he imagined how the conversation between the Cardassian and this woman with the mysterious aura would play out. 

Deanna let Julian’s mixed emotions brush her awareness, picking up most strongly fondness with an undercurrent of anxiety. “You don’t like when people comment on your youth,” Deanna revealed. 

“Mostly because it’s not true, really. My thirties are right on my heels.”

“Good genes,” Beverly commented in between sips of her tea, and Deanna was unprepared for the flash of panic-horror-guilt from Julian. She wasn’t able to analyze deeper before he clamped down on that inner turmoil.

“Anyway, thirty is barely anything at all.” Deanna nodded towards the space station out their window. “Cardassians don’t even start celebrating birthdays until they reach fifty years.” There it was again. Deanna basked in the warm fondness radiating from Julian’s mind. This young man had a soft spot, though if it was for one Cardassian or the whole race, she couldn’t tell.

“Really?” Now Julian’s interest was piqued. “We have a Cardassian on board the station who can be a tough nut to crack when it comes to information about his culture.”

“I was just wondering about how you’re able to keep the infirmary stocked and prepared considering just how many different species you encounter there,” Beverly remarked. “And Starfleet’s files on Cardassian physiology is barely more than a skeleton.”

“You’re telling me,” Julian laughed. “Fortunately our Cardassian is just a simple tailor, so he’s not as prone to the same slip and fall injuries as the staff at the eateries or musculoskeletal injuries of the engineering and ops crew members.”

“A tailor on a frontier station,” Deanna grinned. “I really should stop by. I could use the wardrobe update, and I bet he has interesting stock.”

“You should,” Julian replied, trying to sound casual. “One of his biggest fans is your mother.” Beverly and Julian both failed to hold back laughter as Deanna’s face arranged into a picture-perfect example of annoyance. 

\---------

“Guess who I met today,” Julian breathed into the ear opening at the junction of Garak’s aural ridges. His wayward hands were stroking at the gap between Garak’s thermal undershirt and trouser waistband, and he bit back a chuckle at the way his lover’s skin twitched and fluttered at the touch.

“I’m not playing guessing games, my dear,” Garak insisted. His fingers, currently tinged blue between almost imperceptible patterns of tiny scales, tangled into Julian’s curls, unsure if he wanted to push the doctor’s head away in reaction to the almost ticklish stimulation or to press him close to demand more.

In response, Julian nibbled at an aural ridge, and this time he couldn’t stop a huff of amusement. Usually Garak would attack before Julian was able to make the first move in progressing their evening activities. He’d reduce the golden man to pleading whines and wordless vocals in a matter of minutes. But tonight, Julian had struck first, and he was delighted and incredibly turned on by Garak’s responsiveness.

“Lwaxana Troi’s daughter,” Julian said, unwilling to drag the game out. Where Garak had been pleasantly pliant under his touch a moment before, now Julian found himself wrapped around a body of solid granite. He pulled away from nibbling at Garak’s neck to peer into his partner’s eyes.

“My dear, if your intention was to slow this down, you’ve succeeded in dropping a proverbial ice bucket over the proceedings. Why on Prime would you say that woman’s name?”

“Actually, her daughter Deanna is quite a poised and attractive woman, though she does have those Betazed eyes that make me uneasy.” Julian slid off of his perch in Garak’s lap to properly seat himself on the couch, though he kept one hand resting on Garak’s upper thigh. “I convinced her to drop in on your shop.”

“You think I’m any more comfortable with those eyes than you are?”

“Afraid she’ll root out all your tailor secrets?” Julian teased.

“No, it’s just that customers with psy abilities can simply be impossible to serve,” Garak lied smoothly in return. “Especially if they have particularly garish sartorial taste. Besides, you’re the one with anything to lose from discovery of this little secret.” The statement was uncharacteristically blunt compared to Garak’s usual employment of slippery innuendo and doublespeak.

Julian regretted bringing up the subject now as he felt the heat practically draining away. Garak was entirely correct in his statement: there seemed to be little danger for Garak in their secret rendezvous, while the doctor stood to lose friends, the respect of his staff, and possibly the entire crew’s trust if it came out that he was bedding with a Cardassian multiple nights per week. Kira and Miles would probably refuse to ever talk to him again, and his Bajoran nurses would likely quit on the spot.

But in the jungle-humid air of Garak’s quarters, his brain’s risk assessment skills fizzled out as other body parts demanded attention. He itched to get his palms up his lover’s shirt and down the front of his perfectly tailored trousers, and the touch of cool leathery fingers massaging small circles at the back of his neck was chipping at his control. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage.” Julian slithered from the couch to rest on his knees, his hand never leaving Garak’s thigh. “Just, while she’s in your shop, try not to remember what I’m about to do to you.”

“Oh my,” Garak breathed, and he dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch as Julian’s hot fingers worked their way into Garak’s pants. He had only the weakest defenses against Julian’s insistence to perform this act which was considered taboo in most Cardassian cultures. This slip of a golden human man with his clever fingers, sinfully gorgeous lips, coaxing tongue, could induce a state of quivering, mindless insanity and call the rain down on them in an indecently short time. Garak found the greatest satisfaction in claiming Julian as his prize, but he delightfully indulged in falling apart under Julian’s touch. 

This time was no different, and Julian’s arousal pulsed as he lapped up Garak’s sharp minty fluid that always left his tongue a little numb. 

When Garak looked down, the viscous gloss on Julian’s lips kicked at the walls of his restraint. He hissed a threat or a curse that the translator failed to render as he launched himself at his prey before Julian’s respiratory rate had fully recovered. “Elim!” Julian cried as Garak clamped the doctor’s wrists to the floor. “Bed?” he implored. Previous experience had proven that neither of their bodies would benefit from floor exercises. He emphasized his request by struggling genuinely against his captor’s unyielding hold.

“No,  _ Chu’lian _ , I’ll have you just--” Garak nipped at an exposed wrist, “right--” teeth on an tantalizing earlobe, “here!” A filthy and punishing kiss punctuated the broken words, and Garak’s hips involuntarily surged as he tasted himself in that hot mouth.

“Elim!” Julian cried. His gasp was captured in another plundering kiss. Julian’s senses laser focused down to the points of contact between their bodies, and a swimming feeling in his head made him slam his eyes shut. His arousal was flipping over alarmingly to nausea.

“Elim,” he called again, barely holding back a sob. The intensity of Julian’s struggling motions under Garak’s grip were dialing down, prompting Garak to lick a stripe up Julian’s neck and jaw in an attempt to shock him back into fight mode.

“Elim!” This time, Julian’s plea ended in a rasping choke, one decidedly unsexy considering that Garak’s hands and mouth now were nowhere near Julian’s throat. Garak snapped hands away as if the human were made of white fire.

Julian’s body wrenched and contorted. Veins and tendons stood out against graying skin. Muscles contracted and seized. Garak’s voice calling Julian’s name was incongruously tender and small in the face of horrifying violence. But when the human’s head bounced painfully against the floor, the years of training snapped a veil of calm over Garak’s mind.

“Computer, emergency medical assistance required!” he called. Garak was not a stranger to seizures (prolonged torture, malnutrition, and dehydration could exacerbate hidden medical conditions in prisoners of all species), and he cursed himself for his delayed reaction time. He kicked aside a dining chair near Julian’s head then rolled up the discarded uniform jacket to provide a cushion for his skull. “Computer! Confirm!” he demanded in a mirror-flat voice.

“Medical team approaching. Door locks disengaged,” came the robotic calm tones from the comm. Garak had the sense to hitch up his trousers and fasten them closed.

“Hang on, Julian. A few more seconds,” Garak rasped, unsure if the human could even hear him as the seizure seemed to continue unending.

\-------

Though Deep Space Nine was run on Cardassian hardware, a list of priority subroutines had been installed and brought operational upon handoff to Starfleet engineers. Among the list were the communications systems that linked and operated the wearable Starfleet (and Bajoran) combadges. Any badge was recognized and linked to the station-wide communications system within seconds of the wearer stepping foot on the station. If the system detected a medical personnel code, the badge was further cataloged and patched into the emergency medical network.

The system had done its job flawlessly and quietly behind the scenes when Beverly Crusher had exited the airlock a few hours before. Currently, she was strolling along the habitat ring in conversation with her Captain, en route to the nearest turbolift that would deposit them to the docking airlock for the  _ Enterprise. _ “Did you get to meet Lieutenant Dax, Jean-Luc?”

“Unfortunately, not. I once had the opportunity to attend a lecture by her former host,” Jean-Luc explained. Beverly was focused on his story, but her mind was (completely unconsciously) taking notice every time they passed a medical first aid kit.

The comm system had her badge’s location triangulated within centimeters. Immediately upon Garak’s call for medical assistance, the comm system determined that Doctor Julian Bashir’s badge was the closest in proximity to the requester. After 30 seconds, the system did not register a response to the call for aid and located the next closest badge.

“Emergency medical aid requested,” Doctor Crusher’s badge chirped. Her hand moved to touch her badge before her forebrain even registered the request.

“Acknowledged. Provide navigation!” she demanded. She reversed direction and broke into a run to grab the first aid kit she and Picard had passed a few meters back. Then they both jogged along the curving hallway, following the computer’s directions to reach the numbered door. Picard pressed the pad at the door which opened immediately to admit them. 

Crusher darted into the room to kneel down next to two people on the floor between a dining table and a couch. When Picard realized that one was a Cardassian, he felt a stab of panic and frustration at Beverly’s habit to laser focus on her patient without taking a moment to assess the big picture. It was the one quality that he had to continually bring up in her performance evaluations and one that she had never been able to fully overcome. “Stand back,” he barked to Cardassian who either didn’t hear him or didn’t care to follow his directions.

“Sir, I’m Doctor Crusher. Can you tell me what happened?” she asked Garak as she focused on her medical tricorder.

“Some kind of seizure. I’m not sure how long, but it stopped only seconds ago,” Garak replied in a gentle and calm voice that was shocking to hear from a Cardassian. Picard started to mentally reassess the threat level, thinking that perhaps this was a citizen and not a dangerous soldier.

“Was he on the couch? Did he fall down to the floor?” Crusher asked. She set the tricorder on the down and performed some quick digital assessments including pulling back Julian’s eyelids and gently prying open his jaw.

Garak hesitated. Though he had yet to acknowledge the red uniformed man, he registered the potential threat the man represented. Making a quick calculation, he decided to play the simple tailor, confused and frightened in the face of an emergency. “He was already... on the floor when it started. I think. It’s hard to recall. Oh look at me!” Garak crooned holding his hand out to show Picard. The shaking was easy to fake thanks to the real adrenaline coursing through him.

“His heart rate and respiration are returning to normal level, and I believe he’s in no immediate danger. Jean-Luc, can you unfold an antigrav stretcher? I’d like to get him back to my sickbay with Starfleet equipment for further assessment.”

Picard immediately jumped to comply, but still asked, “Is the station’s infirmary not closer?”

“It may be, but I’m unfamiliar with the Cardassian interfaces. And this patient--” she paused in her reply to cut away at the tight collar of Julian’s undershirt and press a hypospray to his neck, “is the station’s chief medical officer.”

“The turbolift is just a few meters down the hall,” Garak explained. And it was no coincidence. Garak had always chosen accomodations closest to exits and escape routes. He followed the doctor’s commands to help load Julian on the stretcher and strap him down. 

“Let’s get him to the  _ Enterprise, _ and I’ll contact Commander Sisko once we’re in sickbay,” Picard conceded. “Take care that the sled doesn’t bump anything as we go, Mr…”

“Garak.” The tailor kept one hand on the stretcher as he and Picard guided it out of the room so that Doctor Crusher could continue to make scans.

“Garak,” Doctor Crusher asked once they reached the turbolift. “Did he eat or drink anything before the seizure started?”

“He replicated a glass of red leaf tea, but that was all he had in my quarters. I’m unaware of anything he may have had today, though I do know that he was on your ship for several hours with Chief O’Brien.” Garak debated going into further detail, but decided that the more Doctor Crusher knew, the better for Julian’s sake. He was aware that his friend had been attempting to hide some ailment from him for weeks now. Based on glimpses at Julian’s data PADD and the frequent bouts of frustration he’d witnessed, he guessed that Julian either didn’t know what was wrong or what to do about it. He was relieved that another doctor would have to be involved, now, even if the circumstances were frightening.

“He’s been suffering from nausea and nosebleeds for at least a few weeks. Exercise is causing him awful fatigue. About a week ago, I came upon him practically passed out in a hallway, though he tried to explain it away as a panic attack.” Garak hissed a curse. “I should have intervened before now. This had gone on too long.”

Doctor Crusher tapped these notes into the tricorder. The rest of the short trip was silent, and Garak noted the man’s, Jean-Luc’s, body language. He recognized the xenophobic discomfort of a human that was loath to be confined with a Cardassian, though it was unusual from an officer of such high ranking.

Doctor Crusher must have recognized it at the same moment, because she laid a comforting hand on the man’s arm. “Garak, what’s your function on the station and your relation to Doctor Bashir?” she asked in a conversational tone. Oh, he liked this woman. She was stoic and appeared to be competent, but she had a way of “innocently” asking just the right pointed questions, a skill he had been trying to develop in Julian ever since their first meeting.

Time to downplay the danger. “I’m just a tailor,” he explained. “Doctor Bashir and I became friends through our discussions of literature and his desire for more authentic holosuite costumes.”

The turbolift came to a swift stop and deposited them at a docking airlock. Garak helped guide the antigrav sled through the circular portal, but the captain blocked him from going any further by bodily standing before him.

“Please, Captain, I’d like to be there when he wakes up.”

Picard waved Beverly through the airlock, confident that she could handle the stretcher from here.

“Was anyone else aware that he was in your quarters tonight, Garak?” Picard asked, not bothering to hide his contempt. The Cardassian’s eyes flashed with a frigid stab for a moment before settling back into a worried expression.  _ There _ was the danger that Picard knew had to be hidden there the whole time.

“I don’t see how that’s your business.” The tailor’s tone was light, but his voice half an octave lower.

“Perhaps not, but no Cardassian, you included, is setting foot on my ship. If I discover that you’ve caused this Starfleet officer any harm, you will answer to me, not Benjamin Sisko. Now step back before I call station security and have you arrested.”

Garak didn’t bother now to hide the malice in his expression, and Picard had to fight down a lump of panic at the threatening hiss emanating from the reptilian enemy. He turned on his heel, deliberately putting his back to Garak, and took care to maintain a steady pace as stalked away. In the back of his mind, he was greatly relieved that the Cardissian did not try to follow.

\--------

Awareness slammed into Julian’s mind. The two most immediate facts he registered were that every inch of his body was suffering and his wrists were strapped down. The smells and sounds he detected had a familiar edge that tugged at his memory, but this was definitely not the Deep Space Nine infirmary. Just as that thought solidified, he heard a low murmur some three meters off to his right. The voice was barely familiar, and when his enhanced brain was finally working on all thrusters a few seconds later, he realized it was Doctor Crusher. He was on the  _ Enterprise _ , in her sickbay.

Sickbay! How long had he been unconscious, unable to consent (or not) to a litany of diagnostic testing? He had been so careful to avoid medical testing every day since his father had revealed the crime of genetic modification, that moment he’d become an accomplice through the simple act of knowing. Fortunately, there was no need for a doctor to even glance at his genes for his academy entrance physical or Starfleet annual physicals, and he’d always been healthy enough to require no more than an easy diagnosis of common virus or bacterial infection. Even the ever-present possibility of being wounded in the line of duty wasn’t a threat to his secret, as treatment would focus on healing the immediate damage.

Julian had given thought to the future, but he’d never settled on a solution for how he would handle medical care in his advanced years when genetic testing was more likely to be required. He had a vague idea that he’d just handle all his diagnosing needs himself.

Much like he’d been handling his current situation. And look how that had turned out. 

“Julian.” Doctor Crusher’s husky but gentle voice called to him as she approached his bed. He opened his eyes and gave her a wry smile.

“Doctor Crusher. How did I end up here? Last I remember I was--” he bit his tongue and immediately regretted abusing the damaged flesh. In Garak’s quarters. Oh Stars, had he passed out there? Were they blaming Garak?

“On DS9?” she finished for him. “You suffered from a seizure, and I was the closest medic available. You were very near a turbolift which could bring us here, and that was easier than trying to navigate you to the station infirmary.”

A seizure. That explained the wrist cuffs that Doctor Crusher was now removing. He reached down to the bed control to raise the head of the bed. “Well, I feel quite lucky. I hate ending up as a patient in my own infirmary.”

“Every doctor does,” Crusher commented as she scrolled through charts on the biobed screen. “The acute danger has passed. With a few shots to steady your numbers, I’ll discharge you. But I don’t have an underlying diagnosis yet.” She folded her arms and twitched her eyebrow in a way that reminded Julian of a Vulcan. “No detectable pathogens. No recent infections. At least none indicated on your official chart.”

“None,” Julian confirmed. He willed his fingers to stop shaking as he took the PADD that Crusher reluctantly offered so he could see his current test results. A quick perusal of the tests flooded him with relief; no genetic testing was indicated.

“But weeks of fainting spells, nose bleeds, and now a seizure.” Crusher said. She could read the surprise and question in his large hazel eyes. “Mr. Garak is an excellent bystander to have in a medical emergency. You are very lucky.”

That bastard. Julian had been careful to keep his personal chart on a PADD that was disconnected from the Starfleet medical database to prevent the data from ending up in his medical file. He rarely slept for any length of time in Garak’s presence, but it’s not as if a locked door or password protected device had ever stopped the spy.  _ He’s an obsessive collector of information, Julian. How long did you think you could keep this from him? _

With a resigned sigh, he admitted that it was time to bring in another doctor on the case. “Months, actually. Heart palpitations, nausea, fatigue, exactly these blood chemistry results, thrombocytopenia. Coming and going without any discernible underlying cause. I’ve been working on a diagnosis for months.” He dropped the PADD to the blanket, and rolled his head to look at Doctor Crusher. He huffed a bitter laugh. “I developed a vaccine for an emerging strain of the Andorian Vuup virus in 17 days, but I can’t figure this out. And it’s  _ right there _ in front of my face, I know it!”

“Tell me what you’ve tried and ruled out.”

Julian laid out the extent of his testing, experimentation, dietary changes, and treatments. Every diagnosis she offered had been considered and discarded already.

Crusher tapped her long graceful fingers against the edge of a PADD. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Beverly asked after several moments of silence.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s something my son would always tell me. He’s a genius with technology, but when he was too wrapped up in something else to help me with a computer problem, he’d tell me to start with the basics. Sometimes just restarting a computer will fix the issue.”

“I did a water fast for eight days. It seemed to help, but on the last day this came back with a vengeance.”

“What I mean is: let’s start at the very beginning,” she explained. “What are the first questions you ask a patient when starting the diagnosis process?”

“‘What’s been going on in your life recently?’ But that’s the thing. My diet, exercise routines, environment, even stress levels had been fairly routine when this started.”

“Prescription drugs or supplements?”

“None. I started using supplements to treat the symptoms, but that was after they appeared.”

“Recreational drugs?”

“Never. Moderate alcohol and synthol consumption, but abstaining didn’t have any effect.”

“Your elimination diet should have uncovered any allergies or sensitivities. What about environmental considerations? Your uniform is the Starfleet’s newest design, and it’s not unheard of for the fabrics to cause issues.”

“I thought about that. I had our tailor construct a set of uniforms for me out of plant fibers. Even the dyes used were from natural Earth derivatives.”

That caused Beverly’s mind to leap to the tailor. She hadn’t examined the room closely when she’d responded to Julian’s medical emergency, but she thought it likely that the quarters belonged to the Cardassian based on the temperature and decor. “Any routine contact with xenospecies body fluids?”

Julian froze. It was just for a moment, but it was enough for Beverly to understand.

“Oh my god!” Julian moaned, covering his face. He wished the floor would eat him or that the ship would be attacked. Something.

Crusher placed a comforting hand on Julian’s arm. “A new angle to attack then. Do you want me to help with the testing, Doctor Bashir?”

“No, it’s fine.” The statement came out muffled as he still had his face buried in his hands.

“It happens all the time. You know that.”

“I’m a  _ doctor _ . I should have spotted it right away. I mean, I did check the cross-species philiapedia before I… before we…”

“No contraindications?”

“No interactions at all recorded between humans and--” he slammed his mouth shut before it could continue to run away from him. “I’ll add the medical alert to the database.” The database was open for anyone to anonymously add to the list of side effects that could occur in cross species contact. Adding it under his official account would flag the entry as medically verified, but there was no reason to suspect the diagnosing doctor was also the test subject. And his hippocratic oath demanded that he record the contraindication even at the risk of exposing his secret affair with Garak.

“It happens all the time,” Crusher repeated. “Of course, I recommend abstaining or at least avoiding contact with fluid and mucus membranes until you can identify the appropriate prophylactic.” She finagled a hyprospray and injected him with a bespoke mix of supplements. 

“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Julian cheeked. “Am I released?”

“Yes, but I’m putting you on light duty for three days. Don’t pilot or operate heavy machinery or vehicles for the foreseeable future. Send me test results in one month, and if everything looks good, I’ll lift those restrictions.” Julian tilted his head and grimaced as she applied another hypospray. “Your friend, you’ll want to make sure the interaction isn’t a two-way street. Run some tests on him.” Julian nodded and pivoted to drape his legs over the edge of the table. “Or her or them,” Doctor Crusher added as she turned her back.

Well, she wasn’t the CMO of Starfleet’s flagship because she was less than clever.

\-------

“Easy, Julian.” Jadzia placed a steadying hand on Julian’s arm as the Cadassian-built turbolift dropped. Chief O’Brien was reluctant to change the lift software to try to make the ride more comfortable. Turbolifts were tricky work with the potential for real danger.

Jadzia ran another sweeping glance over her friend. At Doctor Crusher’s request, she’d come to retrieve Julian and escort him home. He was dressed in the starship style uniform since the  _ Enterprise _ didn’t yet have the new pattern in its replicator, though Miles had promised to upload the files before they departed. The absence of padding in the jacket made it even more obvious that he had lost kilograms of weight through the ordeal. “So, the mystery is solved? Finally?”

“Was it really so obvious something was wrong?”

“Julian,” Jadzia scolded lightly. “ _ Everyone _ has been worried about you. The new raktajino barista asked about you.”

Julian groaned. “It’s impossible to keep a secret on this station.” He really didn’t believe that, but all the same. The raktajino girl was just as bad a gossip as all the other vendors. He was sure Garak was positively gorging himself on all the fresh inflow of data.

Jadzia walked him to his door, but declined the offer to come in. “If you’re sure you’re absolutely fine right now, I have a quick errand to run. I’ll drop by before my shift starts, and we can do breakfast.” She leaned and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you’re on the mend. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

She made her way to the belly of the station to the holding cells. “Good morning, Kaeela,” she greeted the Bajoran guard on duty. “You have a full house tonight.” Three of the holding cells were occupied including one containing the station’s resident tailor.

“Yes ma’am. Something in the air last night, I guess. I’m compiling my report for Constable Odo now, but did you need a run-down?”

“Oh, no no. I just came down here to let you know, Kaeela…” she folded her arms behind her back and started a slow pace. When she reached the guard’s console, she turned her back to cross the floor again, which resulted in her facing the holding cells. “Doctor Bashir is going to make a full recovery.”

“Oh! Uhm… that’s good to hear.” Kaeela said.

Jadzia locked eyes with Garak for a brief moment when he turned on his bed to his side to press his back to the wall. She turned again to stroll away from the cells. “I don’t know all the details of course, but he’s going to take it easy for a few days while trying out a promising treatment. He seems confident that it will help, but I’m going to check in on him through the day to make sure he’s actually resting.

Kaeela blinked a few times. “That’s… look, I’m sorry, is there something I can do to help? I don’t know Doctor Bashir very well but I--”

“No!” Jadzia smiled. “I just thought you’d like to know is all. Well, I know you need to prepare for shift change, so I’ll leave you to it.” On her way out, she paused at Garak’s cell. “Good morning, Mr. Garak. Did they finally find that box of banned Orion aphrodisia chocolates you have stashed in your shop?”

“Such rumors, Lieutenant. You seem to have as active an imagination as the young doctor. My profit margins certainly aren’t robust enough to afford for such contraband. I mean, really, Lieutenant!”

Jadzia smirked at him and glanced down as the guard approached to explain. “Mr. Garak was apprehended trying to override the authorization subroutines in an airlock last night. But he’s been a gentleman all night, unlike my other guests.”

“A customer from a visiting ship left her scarf in my shop. I was simply trying to return it to her as I’ve already explained to security.” When Jadzia just shook her head with a smile, he sat up. “It was a very nice scarf. Baby mountain goat wool from Thalos VII.”

“Have a good day, Garak. Good luck convincing Odo to let you out.”

\--------

A few nights later when Garak was a free man, he watched with fascinated disgust as his dinner companion tore through his meal. He withheld his normal barbs; it would take more than a few days of recovery for Julian to show signs of returning to his normal weight.

“And do you know the stupid part?” Julian had been chattering almost nonstop since Garak had appeared at his door with the offer of good company over dinner.

“And what is that, my dear doctor?”

“The really stupid, utterly hare-brained pants-on-head moronic thing?” Garak tilted his head at the strange phrasing, unsure if the translator had managed that one. “I feel like such a fool. It was there in front of me the whole time! One very basic question, that’s all it took!”

“Well, all mysteries, great and small, are simply a matter of asking the right question, dear.”

“Yeah, but this was basic doctor stuff. It was like I never even went to med school. She asked me: ‘any sexual contact with an alien species?’” Julian was too deep into self recrimination to notice Garak’s scales darkened at his brow and neck ridges. “It’s one of the very first questions we ask a patient who is experiencing unusual symptoms. There’s even one of those silly med school acronyms for it. DREAMS: changes in diet, routine, environment, activities, ménage, or sleep. Ménage being innuendo for coital activities or domestication arrangements.”

Garak went very still with that joyless smile plastered on his face. “And what, Doctor, does our ‘ménage’ have to do with your declining health?” Julian was familiar with the flat tone of Garak’s delivery.

“Bodily fluids.”

The duskiness of Garak’s scaled ridges was impossible to overlook. “I assure you I’m perfectly free of disease down—” Julian held his hand up to stop Garak’s speech. 

“I believe you, though I was entirely irresponsible by failing to confirm that, for  _ both _ of us, when we started this whole thing. I’d like to remedy that if you could work your magic and get me some medical data on what exactly I should be looking for to confirm your sexual health.” 

Garak breathed deeply, though the tension in his hands and jaw did not abate. Finally he nodded. “Cardassians are what you would consider rather prudish, at least by licentious mammalian standards. We don’t leave medical texts and journals on sexual health available to just anyone. It will take time.”

“That’s fine. But that’s not what this is, and I’m pretty sure I would have spotted it easily if that were the case. No virus, bacteria, or protozoa. It was just… well just Cardassian body chemistry. It doesn’t jive well with the human body.” Julian wasn’t sure if he had ever seen Garak so distressed by a simple mealtime conversation. Well, if Cardassians were puritan lizards, Julian supposed that Garak was feeling rather attacked in the moment. It was surprising that a person so skilled in bed could be so removed from sex positivity and open conversation. 

Julian stood from the table, meal completely forgotten, and stepped around to stand directly behind Garak. He pressed his hands to Garak’s shoulders, dropping each finger individually to rest on the darkened neck ridges in an almost caress. “My dear,” he breathed into Garak’s ear, borrowing the phrase. “It’s completely natural. These things have been happening since the dawn of space travel. It’s just part of the,” he dug his fingers into Garaks shoulders. “ _ exploration _ process.” He nibbled at an aural ridge. “You can’t play with fire if you’re not ready to be burned, but the fire is just so…” he ran a hand into the collar of Garak’s shirt and traced the teardrop indentation hidden there with the V of his spread fingers, “hot!” 

“Julian!” Garak growled. With inhuman speed, the assassin spy had the lanky doctor on his back against the hard floor, his hands pinned at the wrists and his long legs spread to cradle solid hips.

“Yes! Elim!” Julian hissed. He threw his head back and rolled his hips, gasping at the delicious friction. He had been spoiled by their frequent rendezvous, and it had been too long. But just as quickly, the body above him pulled away, leaving cold emptiness in its wake. “Elim?” He croaked. He sat up to see that Garak was across the room, gripping the door frame of Julian’s quarters and head slung low.

“We can’t, Doctor. I won’t selfishly have you suffer just so I can have my fun. I won’t  _ use _ you like that.”

Julian pushed himself from the floor, twitchy with need but irritated at himself for pushing too fast without finishing his explanation. On silent feet, he approached slowly. “It’s okay, Elim.”

“It is  _ not _ okay!” Garak spun and snatched at Julian’s outreached arm. His self loathing burned hotter at the flash of pain that Julian failed to keep off his face. He released his victim and stalked a few steps away. “You’re worth more than a tumble in the sheets. This ends now.”

Julian stepped to stand between Garak and the room’s only exit, conscious of how tenuous and dangerous the move was. “Move. Now,” Garak demanded. 

“Wait! Elim, just wait. Let me finish.” Garak paced to the other end of the room, relieved that Julian’s quarters had windows he could glare out of. “I’m perfectly safe, we don’t have to stop this. Look.” Reluctantly, Garak peered over his shoulder. Julian was holding up a capsule.

“It counteracts the substance that was interacting with my own body chemistry. I just take one shortly before or after, and I’m protected.”

Garak approached slowly and took the pill from Julian’s fingers. It was filled with black and red powder. “Just like that?” Garak whispered.

“One little pill. And even if I accidentally forget, I’m fine. I promise. It’s the cumulative nature of the exposure to your fluids that’s the danger. There’s an acid, you see.” Garak shook his head.

“I’m not that familiar with the chemistry,” Garak admitted. 

“Actually, humans have been utilizing the acid for centuries. It’s a mild pain reliever when ingested and sometimes used to treat chronic heart problems thanks to its anti-inflammatory effect. So I can never get away with ‘not tonight, dear, I have a headache’ when I’m with you.” Julian could see the joke was lost on Garak who was still just staring at the pill. “I developed this myself based on existing prophylactic treatments. It’s not unusual at all for things like this to happen with cross species relations. I’ll order up the ingredients in hypospray form once I get the formula right. In fact, I still need to test it out.” Julian placed his hands on Garak’s hips, tugging him close. “The more testing the better.”

Finally, Garak met Julian’s eyes. The sparkling mirth he found there evaporated his resolve, and he was positively lost when Julian opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. He understood the directive and dropped the pill onto that pink, hot tongue. After swallowing, Julian slowly dropped to his knees.

“Oh, and Elim.”

“Yes, my dear,” Garak breathed. “Yes, Julian, I want you.” He ran his thumbs over Julian’s plump, scorching lips, and Julian’s blood zinged in delight at the evidence that Garak was enthusiastically consenting.

“If I forget to take my medicine sometimes, you should know that the acid does  _ wonders _ for human skin. And it’s been ages since I’ve had a proper facial.”

By the end of the night the pill was tested and tentatively deemed to be a success, though only repeated exposure would confirm. And when the doctor’s skin glowed with dewy freshness, he decided to keep the secret of his skin routine to himself.


End file.
